


Unpacking

by juniper_and_lamplight



Series: Close Reading [6]
Category: Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Books, Character Study, Established Relationship, Gen, Guilt, M/M, Reading, Reading Aloud, Todd-typical self-loathing, fantasy novels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2019-09-12
Packaged: 2020-09-30 09:23:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20444828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniper_and_lamplight/pseuds/juniper_and_lamplight
Summary: “Reading took me away from everything shitty and boring about my life, it made things feel...I don’t know, bigger? But then—well, you know what happened. And that’s when everything started feeling smaller than it ever had before.”





	Unpacking

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to  electricteatime for [the post](https://juniper-and-lamplight.tumblr.com/post/182411434902/i-feel-like-todd-is-or-was-once-actually-quite-a%22) that inadvertently sent me down this particular rabbit hole.

_ **Now** _

Considering the life he leads, Todd ought to be accustomed to taking punches, both literal and metaphorical. Yet when he sees the book, with its old-fashioned scrolled font and its cover worn soft with age, it almost knocks the breath right out of him.

He has no right, honestly, to right to be surprised by it, considering that he’d packed it into the box himself. But then again, he’d packed it under duress. After their months-long absence and subsequent non-payment of rent, Todd and Dirk had returned from Bergsberg to find eviction notices on their doors at the Ridgely, and rather than deal with the new landlords, they’d opted to move out and start fresh (with some help from Farah’s spotless credit history and newly deep pockets). Todd had boxed up his possessions indiscriminately, figuring he’d sort everything out when he and Dirk got settled in the new apartment. It wasn’t like he had much stuff worth keeping, anyway, especially not after the Rowdy 3’s visit—it only took two trips in Farah’s SUV to move all of Todd’s salvageable possessions. 

Of course, when he arrived at the new apartment, Todd had been so exhausted that he unpacked the essentials—clothes, bedding, guitars—and left the rest of the boxes to gather dust in a corner for months on end. So many months, in fact, that it’s not until he finally opens one of the boxes that he remembers how he packed his books by simply sweeping them off the shelves and into the boxes, jumbling hardcovers and paperbacks and slim graphic novels all together. The fact that this particular book ended up on top of the jumble _could_ just be a coincidence...only Todd’s seen too much to believe in meaningless coincidence anymore. 

The reminder of how haphazardly he’d packed this book (and all his books) knocks him for a loop, because every one of these books had once _meant _something to him, despite the fact that it’s been years since he’s even looked at them, much less re-read them. These books are relics of a past Todd, a Todd who had _interests_, whose life wasn’t an endless slog of loneliness, self-hatred, and shit jobs to pay for Amanda’s meds. (As if any amount of medication or money could pay for what he’d done.) He’s no longer that version of himself, nor is he the younger Todd who bought these books with the same curatorial zeal he applied to his record collection. Now, he’s...he’s not really sure _who _he is, except that he hopes he’s _different_. (He’d prefer _better_, but different seems like a more achievable goal.) He’s trying, at least, which is more than he’s done in a long time, but even so, this version of Todd is still a work in progress. And this version of Todd has no fucking clue what to do with his formerly beloved book collection. 

Of course, this version of Todd also has a live-in enabler for identity crises. Dirk looks up from the tangle of mismatched electronics cords he’s unearthed from another box, just in time to see Todd gingerly pick up the small, yellowed paperback.

“Oooh, what’s that?” Dirk asks, all too eager to abandon the cable de-tangling.

“It’s...it’s my favorite book. Or it used to be, when I was ten.”

“And you still have it?” The amazement in Dirk’s voice seems unwarranted until Todd remembers than Dirk owns precisely nothing from his own childhood. (And shockingly little from his adulthood—when Todd had asked if Dirk planned to have his stuff sent over from England, Dirk had launched into a convoluted diatribe about an eagle, a destroyed house, and a broken nose, and Todd had been too confused to ask any follow-up questions.) Nosy as ever, Dirk peers into the box. “You’ve read _all _of these books?”

“I...yeah.” Todd swallows, and begins unpacking the abused books one by one, stacking them neatly on the floor. “Every single one.”

* * *

_ **Then** _

Todd would never describe himself a fantasy fan—not in front of people, at least, because to publicly call himself a fan of anything other than the right sort of bands would be to admit that he cared about something, and Todd kept his caring close to his chest. But there was something about fantasy stories that spoke directly to some undefinable hunger inside him. He especially liked the stories in which seemingly average young characters who defied expectations, who came from nowhere but still managed to find their people and claim their heroic destinies. He knew those endings were too grandiose to apply to a boring suburban kid like himself, but he ate it up anyway, devoured so much of it that it entered his bloodstream.

When he first started reading on his own, he read whatever his parents recommended to him, which tended to be older books they remembered fondly from their own childhoods. He loved The Dark Is Rising series (the notion of a secret magical lineage was far more alluring than the looming threat of a debilitating nerve disease), and he tolerated the Narnia books (the religious allegory went right over his head), but he obsessed over The Chronicles of Prydain. He read the whole series over and over, wishing he could be more like High King Taran and less like Assistant Pig-Keeper Taran. With every re-read, he resolved not to cry when Coll died; and with every re-read, he cried anyway.

Later, in his middle school years, he started seeking out books on his own: his mind was blown by_ The Giver _(he couldn’t believe something that good was a school assignment), and his attempt to tiptoe into Tolkien turned into a headlong tumble that left him immersed in Middle Earth for the better part of a year. By the time he hit his teens, he was already branching out into more mature stuff—Ursula LeGuin, Guy Gavriel Kay, the Sandman comics—but that didn’t stop him from developing a deep (if furtive) obsession with His Dark Materials. He knew the series might be considered juvenile for someone his age, but something about its strident humanism (a vindication of his childhood ambivalence toward Narnia) and its fierce, flawed characters resonated with him in ways he couldn’t explain. He was especially drawn to main character, since she reminded him of a certain other girl he knew: a girl who was just learning to read herself, who was loud and curious and so anti-authoritarian that she'd challenge God and _win_. He had to wait a few years for Amanda to be old enough to understand the books, but when he finally started reading her the first one, he was thrilled to see that she was as hooked as he’d been the first time. They tore through _The Golden Compass_ in one week while he was home from college on break, and then they worked their way through the next two books on weekends. (Amanda was old enough to read the books on her own, of course, but she always waited for him, and never read ahead. She did make fun of him when his voice cracked, hoarse from the previous night’s gig, and she elbowed him awake whenever he fell asleep mid-sentence.) By the time they finished the trilogy, he’d perfected his character voices, and she’d gathered a pile of other books for them to read together. 

It was around that same time that he read Joseph Campbell for a class and finally found words for the feeling that had been growing in him since childhood, the sense of secret kinship he’d always felt with small, frustrated fantasy heroes. His call to adventure wasn’t a fairy-tale wizard knocking on his door, though; it was a power chord, reverberating inside him and telling him that music was his only chance to make his small voice bigger, to make people look up to him instead of right past him. Mexican Funeral was starting to take off, both in terms of creativity and popularity; their songs were tight, and they were actually getting paid gigs. He knew that if he could just devote his time to them, there was no limit to how far they could go. The chord rang in his ears constantly, making him chafe under the restrictions of papers and class schedules and his respectable work-study job. 

He didn’t even plan the lie, the first time it happened. It simply slipped out one day, like it had been subconsciously coalescing just so that it would be ready for him when he needed it. He lied about having pararibulitis, and his parents immediately stopped hassling him about grades and starting offering to help him. He accepted their help—at least their financial help—because he knew that if they could understand, they'd want this for him too. They'd want him to answer the call, unleash the chord, fulfill his destiny. He just needed this push to set him on the path, and once he’d made it and paid them back three times over, they’d see why he had to do it. 

His weekend read-alouds with Amanda tapered off sharply after his “diagnosis”—there just wasn’t time or space for visiting, not if he wanted to keep Mexican Funeral’s star on the rise. But he still called her, sometimes. Talking to her was easier when he couldn’t see the hurt behind the sympathy in her wide brown eyes.

* * *

_ **Now** _

Dirk does a speedy visual assessment of the half-opened boxes surrounding Todd, then looks back at Todd himself. “Seriously? _All _of them?”

If he weren’t feeling quite so raw, Todd might be able to let the question—not to mention Dirk’s incredulous tone—slide. Things being as they are, though, he lashes out before he can think better of it. “Yeah, all of them. I might be an washed-up musician who didn’t finish college, but I can fucking _read_.” Todd begins stacking books again, his movements tense and tight.

“I didn’t mean…” Dirk flounders for a moment, picking up a hardcover and riffling the pages without actually looking at them. “Honestly, Todd, I hardly think it’s necessary to get defensive about your inglorious exit from university when talking to _me_.” 

Todd’s still unclear on the exact circumstances surrounding Dirk’s expulsion from St. Cedd’s, except for the fact that Dirk narrowly avoided jail time. He kicks himself internally for being a thoughtless dick yet again, but he’s not in an apologizing mood at the moment. He’ll just have to find a way to make it up to Dirk, who’s now fiddling with the book’s dust jacket.

“Obviously I’m in no position to judge _anyone’s_ literary habits, I only meant that yours have been kept well-hidden, to date—when do you even _do _all of this reading? I don’t think I’ve _ever _seen you at it, and we spend nearly every waking moment together. _And _every sleeping moment, for that matter.”

Dirk’s not wrong in his assessment of how much time they spend together, and Todd has to silence his internal codependency alarm bells (so what if he likes to keep an eye on Dirk? It’s not paranoia if the CIA really is out to get you) before he attempts to respond like a caring boyfriend, _not_ a thoughtless dick. “You wouldn’t have seen—I mean, I don’t really read much. Not any more. I read all of these beforeI met you.” 

Dirk is uncharacteristically silent, though a whole series of conflicted expressions flickers across his face. Todd is five seconds away from yelling “What?!” when Dirk finally opens his mouth. “Todd...did I...do you need more time to yourself?” 

Todd feels the familiar strain of his eyebrows drawing together. “...no? What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, it seems like you used to read _rather _a lot before you met me, and now you don’t read at _all_, and if I’m somehow keeping you from it—” 

Todd cuts him off before he can ride this train of thought to its most illogical conclusion. “No, Dirk, that’s not it. I stopped reading _before _I met you. It’s not a—don’t worry about it, okay? Just help me unpack these, so I can sort out if there are any I want to keep.”

Todd can sense Dirk repressing a retort as he joins Todd in unpacking and stacking the books, and Todd isn’t surprised when Dirk blurts out, “But if you don’t read anymore, and haven’t done for a while, then what are you still doing with an astonishing and frankly _intimidating_ quantity of books?”

“I don’t know, really. I guess I never had time to deal with them. Or I didn’t _want_ to deal with them. It just felt too hard, you know?”

Dirk doesn’t say anything, but he gives Todd that confused-intrigued-sympathetic head-tilt of his, and _fuck_. There’s no getting out of this explanation, not when Dirk is being all attentive and _kind_, goddamn him.

“When I was a kid, I read all the time. By myself, or out loud to Amanda. Even after the band started getting successful, I still read when I could. Reading took me away from everything shitty and boring about my life, it made things feel...I don’t know, bigger? But then—well, you know what happened with the band. And with Amanda. And that’s when everything started feeling _smaller _than it ever had before, and it was like...no matter how much wanted to, I couldn’t _let _myself read. Not much, at least. And definitely not to Amanda.” 

Dirk still looks confused. “But you still kept the books, didn’t you? And now you’ve mended things with Amanda, or started to. You’ve _evolved_, Todd, you said so yourself. Why continue this self-denial?”

“It’s not denial.” The rebuttal is a reflex, out of Todd’s mouth before he can even consider if it’s true or not. Maybe the not-reading thing _started _as a sort of self-inflicted penance. But now it’s a habit, and breaking habits has never been easy for Todd. Dirk frowns at him, but Todd keeps going. “And anyway, there’s other stuff to consider now. Reading can trigger attacks—Amanda used to get them sometimes just from _listening _to books.” 

“_Todd_.” Dirk’s frown turns into a look of pissy exasperation that’s so familiar it’s almost comforting. “I’m sorry, but that is _clearly_ bullshit. Since when do you take _any _cautions against pararibulitis triggers? Just yesterday you shouted at me and Farah-—which, by the way, _rude_—and accused us of infantilizing you just because we _suggested_ that you be the lookout while we followed that unicyclist into the casino with all the noise and flashing lights!” He flicks out the fingers on both hands as if trying to remind Todd of how very flashy the casino lights had been. Todd rolls his eyes.

“Okay, I did not _shout_, I just—you know what? You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t get to tell me how to deal with my own pararibulitis.”

“No, I don’t! You’re right. But I do get to look after you as best I can, since I’m your boyfriend and your best friend _and_ your boss, sort of—”

“You _wish_,” Todd mutters. If anyone is the boss of the agency, it’s Farah, and they all know it. Dirk ignores the interjection. 

“—which means that I must, sometimes, for your own good, call bullshit on you, and I’m doing it now.” Dirk reaches out and drops his warm hand on Todd’s shoulder, just where it meets Todd’s neck, and the tight muscles there loosen just a bit. “You never let fear of potential attacks stop you from working cases, or listening to that screaming you call music, or attempting to cook, or..._other_ intense sensory experiences.” He shoots Todd a _look _as he says the last thing, and traces his thumb lightly against the skin above Todd’s shirt collar, and despite his annoyance, Todd gives a tiny shiver. “I’m not saying that you don’t have the right to define your own boundaries about your condition. I’m only saying that _reading_ seems like an awfully arbitrary place to draw the line.” He gives Todd’s shoulder a squeeze. “It seems to me like...you miss it?”

The tightness in Todd’s shoulders has spread to his chest and throat now, his eyes aching with the threat of incipient tears, and he really, _really_ doesn’t want this right now. Today was supposed to be about finally unpacking the boxes, getting the apartment in order, distancing himself one more step from the old Todd. It was _not _supposed to plunge him back into the toxic stew of guilt and bad habits that made distance from the old Todd necessary. He can’t handle this today. He _can’t_. 

Dirk is still waiting for an answer, but all Todd can do is shake his head, shrug off Dirk’s hand, and start piling the books back into the boxes they came from.

* * *

_ **Then** _

Without the structure of music, without gigs and tours and rehearsals and songwriting, his life felt flimsy and hollowed out. There were long blank stretches between the grind of shitty part-time work and erratic sleep, empty places he once would’ve filled with books or songs. But now, even those small consolations felt like a betrayal of the only thing that really mattered: taking care of Amanda. He visited her as often as possible, brought her meds and kept her company, but he didn’t read to her, and she didn’t ask. 

Every so often, though, he felt flickers of his former self. Sometimes, he snuck into the comic shop and tried to catch up on his favorites, surreptitiously speed-reading the latest issues of _Saga _or _The Wicked + The Divine_ but never allowing himself to actually buy them. Some days, he lingered when he passed the doorway of a bookstore or a library, fingers itching to trace the colorful spines lining the shelves within. And yet every time, he walked away without going inside. Something in him balked at the idea of bringing home a stack of unread books, as if the sense of discovery, the feeling of expansion that came from exploring a fictional world just...wasn’t for him anymore. He'd had his call to adventure, and he'd squandered it. 

Of course, he already had plenty of books in his sad, tiny apartment. Most of the time, he muted their whispering call, dulled it with alcohol or sleep or the most banal television he could find. But tonight, none of those things were working. The cable was out again, and the internet with it; he couldn’t spare the cash for even the nastiest bottom-shelf booze; and sleep, that fickle bastard, eluded him. Without even thinking, he gravitated to the bookshelf and pulled off a well-thumbed paperback. Simply tracing the embossed words on the cover opened up a space inside him that had been locked since Amanda’s diagnosis. He opened the book and scanned the first page, hoping that maybe that would be enough. Just a quick hit of undeserved comfort. Just enough to help him sleep. 

Hours later, his eyes were dry and burning, but he kept turning the pages anyway, caught up in the thrill, the sheer relief of losing himself in a story. He didn’t even stop reading as he dragged himself to the kitchen to make coffee. He had just resettled, mug in hand, when he came to a passage that lodged itself like a shard of ice in his lungs: 

_“Do you realize what you’re doing?” _

_“Yes.”_

_ “You don’t. You’re a thoughtless, irresponsible, lying child. Fantasy comes so easily to you that your whole nature is riddled with dishonesty, and you don’t even admit the truth when it stares you in the face.”_

He put the book down. 

He took a sip of his coffee, hoping it would melt the sudden pain in his chest, but all it did was scald his tongue. He set the mug next to the book, where it would remain for days, the liquid going cold and scummy with neglect.

* * *

_ **Now** _

“Todd, what—I thought we were meant to be unpacking the books?” There’s an edge of prim impatience beneath the concern in Dirk’s tone, like there always is when he’s trying not to let stung feelings show, and part of Todd wants to apologize immediately, but he’s barely managing his own emotions right now. Brushing off Dirk gets added to the growing list of things Todd will have to make up to him later. For now, though, he keeps grimly shoveling books into boxes. 

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind. I might as well just get rid of all of them. This whole thing is stupid.” Todd breathes out deliberately, trying to release some of his anger before it builds up too much steam. The last thing he needs right now is an attack. 

“What, get rid of them _all_?” There’s that tone again, and Todd _hates _it, hates that he’s caused that sound to come out of Dirk’s mouth, but he’s committed to this now, so he resolutely continues his task until Dirk crouches next to him and grips his wrist. “Surely not _that _one, Todd?”

Todd looks at the book in his hand. It’s the one from the top of the box, the one that has Todd’s name written on the flyleaf in a messy, childish scrawl. Getting caught with it _again _cannot possibly be dismissed as coincidence, especially not when Dirk is looking at it like it’s some kind of holy relic, like it’s the key that will decode Todd, will explain how a childhood spent reading and dreaming got twisted into an adulthood riddled with festering guilt. Todd pauses, letting loose another breath, and finally meets Dirk’s eyes. Their gazes lock and hold, and though Todd can’t quite bring himself to say “I’m sorry,” he knows it’s written across his face. Dirk nods, once, letting Todd know that he _understands_, and Todd is immeasurably grateful. 

Dirk curls his hand around Todd’s where it holds the book. “You _could _keep just this one. And maybe...you could read it to me? Like you used to do with Amanda?”

Todd’s been through so much emotional whiplash in the last half-hour that it takes him a moment to register Dirk’s question. “...would you actually like that?”

Dirk nods again, his eyes widening with excitement. “Will you do _voices_?”

“No.” Tender reconciliation is one thing, but Todd has to draw the line. “Absolutely not. The Welsh names are hard enough.” 

Dirk stands, pulling Todd up after him, and they abandon the cursed mess of books and boxes in favor of the couch, where Todd curls into one corner and Dirk sprawls over the remaining space, resting his head on Todd’s thigh. Todd rests his free hand on Dirk’s hair and clears his throat, fighting through the welter of memory, misgiving, and self-consciousness. 

“So, the book begins with the author's note. It says,_ ‘The chronicle of Prydain is a fantasy. Such things never happen in real life. Or do they? Most of us are called on to perform tasks far beyond what we can do.’” _He pauses—it’s been so long since he read these words, and he’s surprised to discover that speaking them again evokes an echo of the old chord, still calling to him, softer but no less insistent. His hand tightens in Dirk’s hair for a moment , and he clears his throat again. _“‘Our capabilities seldom match our aspirations, and we are often woefully unprepared. To this extent, we are all Assistant Pig-Keepers at heart.’”_

Dirk swivels his neck to look up at Todd. “Assistant Pig-_what_?” 

“Just wait, it’ll make sense in a minute.”

Todd maintains his refusal to do character voices for the first two chapters, but when he reaches Gurgi’s first appearance, he slips unthinkingly intothe goofy, sing-song delivery he’d used when he first read it to Amanda. The realization of what he’s just done smarts for a moment, but Dirk’s delighted, hysterical cackling gives him the confidence to turn the page and keep going.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Any kudos or comments will be cherished, and feel free to find me on Tumblr to yell about DGHDA and the reading habits of fictional people.  
* * *  
It's canon that Dirk does voices when he's telling a story, but it gives me no end of delight to imagine TODD doing voices. 
> 
> Works and authors referenced:  
-_The Book of Three_, Lloyd Alexander (quoted; part of the Prydain Chronicles)  
-The Chronicles of Narnia, C.S. Lewis  
-Dark is Rising series, Susan Cooper  
-_The Giver_, Lois Lowry  
-The Lord of the Rings trilogy, J.R.R. Tolkien  
-_The Amber Spyglass_ (quoted; part of the His Dark Materials trilogy)  
-Ursula K. LeGuin  
-Guy Gavriel Kay  
-_Sandman_, Neil Gaiman, et al.  
-_The Hero with a Thousand Faces_, Joseph Campbell  
-_Saga_, Brian K. Vaughan, Fiona Staples  
-_The Wicked + the Divine_, Kieron Gillen and Jamie McKelvie


End file.
